


Love Too, Will Ruin Us

by lalazee



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art School, Beach Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Rutting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-12
Updated: 2014-04-12
Packaged: 2018-01-19 03:52:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1454374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalazee/pseuds/lalazee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A scene of two art students who meet at a bonfire on the beach. There are fireworks, in more ways than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Too, Will Ruin Us

**Author's Note:**

> Originally, this was going to be a long fic where the two of them just love to hate and fuck each other, and are, inevitably, awful for each other's well-being until they learn to grow up and compromise. As it stands, we have their first meeting here, and you'll have to daydream the rest.
> 
> Repost from the eagle kink meme, 2011.

The first time they meet, there are fireworks.  
  
Luminescent bursts of colour strike the night sky like a thousand lit matches, the flare of blue and white reflected in the eyes of someone who sits across the bonfire from him. Marcus feels a sizzle inside him, a humming bud of fire thrusting open in a single scorching bloom.  
  
He is burnt by the very force of his rash desire – and, like many burns, it will take a while before he recognises the severity of the flame’s bite. Even longer, before he realizes that by it he will be forever scarred.  
  
His name is Esca and he’s got a smile like a blade and a tongue like one, too. Everything about him is sharp; his jerky gestures, the way he rips a hand through his hair and sprays sand everywhere. The keen laugh that teeters on the edge of hysterical, mad. Everything about him screams: TOUCH ME AND HURT.  
  
Marcus doesn’t allow himself to feel hurt. He doesn’t  _get_  hurt – certainly not by a scrappy little boy with a razor’s-edge grin and tattoos to hide the scars on his arm.  
  
Lake Michigan waves roar against the shore and the sand is a cold and shifting earth beneath Marcus’ feet when he first approaches. Marcus already knows Esca’s name – a friend of a friend of someone who doesn’t matter. But Esca matters – tonight, he is Marcus’ gravity. The uneven ground gives way beneath Marcus’ soles, and he’s slipping, sliding in towards Esca without an escape route in mind.  
  
No amount of vodka or cheap beer in Marcus’ system will allow him to forget that first moment Esca crawls into his lap like some cat with vicious nails and predatory, feline eyes. They sit at the edge of the bonfire’s light, just out of reach of warmth or idle conversation.  
  
Marcus doesn’t recall the words passed between them – and it doesn’t matter, because Esca’s mouth is cool and tastes of salt and suntan lotion. His bare shoulders are still latently slick from the SPF 80 he must use to remain so ethereally pale. Esca shines beneath the fireworks and soaks up the moon. He is a beacon and his lips are like home when they slot and fit over Marcus’ own.  
  
Esca’s hair is a soft, tangled mess in Marcus’ hands and his moan is lush, his tongue wet as it lashes at Marcus’ mouth like a war or last resort. Esca’s avid lips, his insistent fingers, the roll of his hips – they all speak for him.  _Why wait_ , Esca says as he palms at Marcus’ shoulders and presses him back into the sand, flat on his back.  _Why wait for anything when you can take it_?

In this moment, with the smatter of stars and the blaze of crimson, gold, and white flashing behind his eyelids like a dream, Marcus can’t agree more. Esca’s body is coiled tight, a spring prepared to snap beneath the impatient stroke of Marcus’ hands, the hard line of Esca’s dick rutting against Marcus’ thigh through their thin board-shorts.  
  
They’re tangled, barbed wire strung out and stuck together. Esca bites and scratches, Marcus rises up and bruises. There are people on this beach, somewhere, and it doesn’t matter, not anymore.  
  
Despite the depth of night, the sky presses down on them like a hot, humid blanket, and it’s difficult to breathe. Marcus’ lungs struggle with each inhale, but Esca’s mouth is always there, sharing his air, stealing it away for his own – and Marcus lets him.  
  
Marcus gives him everything, even if Esca never asks.  
  
Time races with haste, streaks through the throb and ache of limbs, the busy, calloused hands shoved into each other’s shorts. Marcus feels drunk on Esca’s musky scent; the metallic, salty tang on his tongue. Neither of them lasts long, thrusting and grinding into each other’s tight-clenched fists, all damp with sweat and their own seeping excitement.  
  
When Esca cums it’s like holding a firecracker. He rasps Marcus’ name out like bit-off curse, and Marcus meets oblivion. Esca milks him dry, leaves Marcus grinding his teeth to keep from crying out against the curve of Esca’s throat. A sweaty forehead rests for an eternity on Marcus’ shoulder, and all Marcus can do is blink up at the cascade of night lights.  
  
He feels foreign in his own skin, swollen with the sense of belonging that he can’t recall experiencing. Esca groans, sounding fucked-out to the core as he places a hand on either side of Marcus’ neck for leverage, and sits up.  
  
Their gazes clash, Esca’s eyes foggy and unreadable in the far-away flickering firelight. The shrapnel cut of his smirk glints faintly, and he says with a faint Scottish inflection,  _Cheers for that, mate_ , and pushes up, away.  
  
Marcus sits up a bit, reclines on his elbows as he watches Esca wander into the shadows, to wherever the hell he comes from. Despite the sticky heat of summer, a chill frosts over Marcus’ ribcage as Esca departs.  
  
Strange – but for a moment Marcus feels like he has previously known Esca. But apparently that is not to be.


End file.
